In Dreams They Came: Phantom Doll
by Celtic-Memories
Summary: A modern take on Raoul's and Christine's undying love. She is a psychic experiencing the bout of a strange phantom doll, unaware of the ties to her own past.  The meeting of her supposed 'Muse of Melodies', Merrik Loyle, just leads to further dismay.
1. Prologue & Childhood Sparks

**In Dreams They Came: Phantom Doll**

**Condensed Version.  
><strong>

[Author's Note: All credit for the characters, songs, and plot line goes to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, whoever else helped make up the Phantom of the Opera, and Lucy Labcom.

As for a few of my own additions, twist arounds, and songs, I credit that to myself.

Based on different parts of all 3 depictions, book, musical, and 2004 movie.]

**Summary:**

A modern take on Raoul's and Christine's undying love. Raoul is French for Ralph, just as Christine is French for Christina. After being split up at the age of 9 and 13, they find each other again just as Christina is going through a terrible phase in her life, graduating her 2nd year of community college, and facing an unknown horror. She is a psychic experiencing the bout of a strange phantom doll, unaware of the ties to the history of her own past. The meeting of her supposed 'Muse of Melodies', Merrik Loyle, just leads to her further dismay.

Originally was: Horror/Romance Rated: M for Language, Violence, Sexual Content, and Graphic Descriptions

[I deleted sexual scenes so the story may be read by a younger audience. If you like I will post them as a one-shot side story labeled 'Deleted Scenes'. ]

Condensed Version Rated: T for Language, Violence, Sensuality, Adult Content

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue:<strong>

"Better is open rebuke, than secret love."

A strong deep almost inaudible voice whispered into the chill of Winter. The voice sounded tired, hoarse as if shouting through the depths of the night for ages, and choked in emotion. Hot held-back tears fell down the mourner's misshapen face and onto the silent grave. A strong, calloused hand touched cold stone as broken waves of green stared at the words so delicately carved into the farewell rock:

'Viscountess de Chagny

Loving Sister, Daughter, Wife

1859 - 1884'

The other hand reached from a black cloak and pulled out a crimson rose, a glittering amethyst ring hooked around the stem by a thorn. The mourner's chapped lips kissed the memoire before placing it at the base of the onyx stone. He meditated and prayed for the lovely woman beneath the frozen Earth. With one last sigh and look, the mourner left the cemetery, headed home, sat into his dark dismal den and wrote a letter to an old Persian friend to tell his story.

His friend came, but before the entire story was told, the misshapen mourner's growing illness advanced further. While the Persian friend slept, the mourner returned to his dark den, covered himself with his cloak, and blew a last breath. He passed into the night like a slithering serpent in the shadows. The Phantom of the Opera fell into eternal dream.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Childhood Sparks<strong>

**2002****  
><strong>

Christina Dahlin was a young shy girl with great intelligence. She had the highest grades in the Catholic private school she attended, and was already two years ahead of all the other girls and boys. So it would be practical that she would befriend the smart, handsome young boy, Ralph de Chancy, who attended all of her classes. Christina did not get along with anyone her own age for they despised her. So, Ralph, three years her senior made their brewing friendship ideal.

Christina was in the church choir and had what most girls called an 'angelic' voice. She could sing two notes higher than all the other girls, having been trained by her father for two years to become a young soprano opera singer. Ralph was in the church choir as well and his voice was strong and sweet. He had no professional voice training so it remained slightly on edge, but beautiful nonetheless.

Christina's mother died when she was 5 so she was raised by her father, Gustav, who was a violinist and vocal teacher. Christina became quiet when she started going to school, and even more quiet when she noticed everyone's attitude towards her because of her excelling grades, and possibly for other reasons as well. That was until she finally advanced another grade at age 9, from 7th to 8th. That was when she met Ralph.

As Christina walked to class by her father's side, her nerves were shot. She gripped her notebook binder so tight her knuckles were white as snow, and it hit her thighs as she walked forward. Her long hair as golden as the sun's rays fell in lazy waves past her shoulders, and her innocent deep blue eyes gazed at the polished wooden floor as if it were Christ himself.

"Father, what if they don't like me? Just like the others." Her young sweet voice was filled with sorrow and worry.

"Why wouldn't they like you? You're smart and sweet. Don't worry about it, my little Chrissy."

"But no one else likes me. Why should they? They're 8th graders, that's worse than 7th graders!"

Gustav bent down to look at his daughter's face, gripping her shoulders. "Dearest little Lotte, don't ever think you're below them or above them. You have your own charms, personality, and if they don't like that then they aren't worthy of your friendship."

"Daddy..." A lone tear fell down her cheek.

Gustav had never really seen his daughter until now, scared and unaccepted by her peers. He didn't understand it. He couldn't see how anyone could not love his daughter, for he loved her dearly.

"My dear... I'll make you a promise. If at least one person does not become your friend in the next 2 weeks, I will have you transfered."

Christina nodded then smiled nervously. She was sure of her father's promise. He never broke one and the weight in her heart and stomach were lightened tremendously as she sighed. "Alright, father."

Gustav gave his daughter a hug before she turned to the door and entered the classroom, Gustav leaving the school.

As Christina walked slowly into the classroom she glanced up twice, unsure of how everyone else would react. Half the students were busy looking at the chalkboard ahead, the other half turned to look at her. _'Just like everyone else. Always staring, always judging. Sizing me up.' _The teacher, Mrs. Smith turned from the chalkboard and saw the students' drawn attention. She turned towards Christina as well.

"Hi," Christina's whisper was barely heard even in the silence.

"Ah, Christina Charlotte Dahlin. Class, welcome Christina to your class. She was the top student in all her grades and is an excellent singer, so give her a warm welcome."

_'Oh no, the teacher told them I'm a know-it-all.'_

"Hello, Christina." the class chorused in a monotonous manner.

"Hello." Christina cringed underneath the gaze and reply of the whole class, about 24 students in all. Her eyes stopped on a certain distinguished boy in the back row if desks. His demeanour was not like theirs, his mere presence shouted 'Sire' rather than the 'Hum-dum' of the rest. The boy's eyes were not on her, instead focused on something underneath his desk. She studied him carefully and noticed he was holding something. Her attention was pulled back to the teacher, whose arm gripped her right shoulder.

"Choose any seat you like," Mrs. Smith said, ushering Christina down the row.

Christina made her way down the row, earning a few odd glances from the boys and snickering from the girls. She noticed the only empty seats were 3 in the back, two directly next to the boy who wasn't looking at her, and the other in the left corner of the classroom. She chose the one on the right corner of the room, passing by the boy who was too busy to look at her.

She took a few seconds to really study him. His hair went past his ears, thin and blond with streaks of strawberry and amber. Only half his face was visible; a small but sharp pointed nose, pale skin with a few freckles on his hands and cheek, a strong defined jawline. She tried to steal a glance at what he was holding before she sat at her desk. She saw a glint of silver that was hastily covered by the boy's hands, as he had probably sensed someone watching.

Christina sighed and put her binder on the desk as Mrs. Smith started talking and writing on the board again. A small gasp almost escaped Christina's lips as a piece of folded paper was pushed onto her desk. She looked to the young boy next to her and saw him still looking down at his hands. Picking up the piece of paper and unfolding it, she read the message inside:

_"Hi, I'm Ralph. I've seen you in the choir. Your voice is very pretty."_

She silently wrote with her pen: _"My name is Christina."_ She folded the paper and slid it to the side of her desk, watching for who would take it. Sure enough it was the boy next to her. She smiled as he glanced at her, catching the light blue of his eyes before he looked down in his hands again, unfolding the note. _'Ralph'._ His name rang in her head repeatedly until the piece of paper was on the side of her desk again.

Their conversation went exactly like this for the last 30 minutes of class, amidst the lessons and reading instructed by the teacher.

_"You don't take to greetings, do you? Or graces."_

Christina furrowed her brows at this one. _"I don't know. Nobody ever talks to me, except for the teachers."_

_"Sit with me at lunch."_

Christina's eyes widened at this. Her eyes glanced over at Ralph just as he looked up and smiled before looking back down at his hands. _"Why?"_

_"I like you, and I have something to show you."_

Christina was bewildered with that last note. He liked her? But he didn't even know her! Nobody in the entire school talked to her let alone liked her. _"Okay, which table?"_

_"The one closest to the bulletin board."_

Christina knew that table very well. All the oldest boys and girls sat at it. She had never noticed Ralph there though and wondered why. _"I don't know..."_

_"I'll walk with you. After class."_

Christina's nerves started jumping. She didn't know whether she was worried or excited, but she wanted to walk with Ralph to lunch. He was being kind to her and talking to her, and she didn't know why. She hadn't done anything, had she? Whatever thoughts or feelings she had she couldn't help a small smile from spreading across her face. _"Okay, Ralph."_

_"See you at lunch."_

_"See you," _wrote Christina just as the bell rang.

Christina slipped the note to him just as she rose from her desk and headed out the door. Next class was choir, then recess right before lunch. She was almost too fluttered to sing as she walked into the chorus room and noticed Ralph was in this class as well. _'He, a singer? Who is he? How come I've never heard him before?'_

From across the bleachers Ralph saw her and smiled, then looked away. Christina couldn't tell if she smiled as she followed the teachers' orders to stand in her designated spot. As class began the teacher, Mr. Berger, had her sing the scales in front of everyone, seeing as she was new. New to the class but definitely not new to this school, and singing.

Christina's voice left her mouth in perfect pitch, tone, and velocity. As she reached the high D two octaves above the C everyone in the class either 'oohed' or snickered, except for Ralph who already had a special place for Christina in his heart. Everyone was amazed that such a strong clear voice could come from a little girl.

Christina ended her note and exhaled a breath, blushing.

"Very good, Ms. Dahlin. Your vocal chords are kept in the best of conditions... your voice is very clear and melodic. It is evident through your father's teachings, he is a great man indeed. But there's a slight hesitation, a skip between intervals, we'll need to work on that."

Christina nodded and took a step back to fall in with the rest of the students. She was the same height as the shortest of all the other girls despite her being younger and so she fit in very easily. She looked backward to catch a glimpse from Ralph and they both smiled before she turned forward.

"Class. Begin your warm-ups and scales. Mr. de Chancy, you have the lead today. Ms. Dahlin, listen to the class and you should fall right in. If not, we'll stop for a few minutes and rehearse."

Christina nodded, admiring Mr. Berger already for his affacy to include everyone. The class began singing warm ups just as she wondered who this 'Mr. de Chancy' was. To take the lead of class must mean he was fairly good, if not the best. Christina thought Mr. Berger the type of man who wouldn't nit pick the students abilities, however. She could sense that about him.

Christina focused intensely on the notes the class was singing, noticing they skipped every other note going from a low C to E to G, etc., also noting that they held each note 1 full length, then 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/16. Christina started singing along with them easily and Mr. Berger gave her a nod of approval as he swept his director's baton.

After the warm-up was finished all the students started chattering and she heard a few chides from the boys,

"Way to go, Ralph. Your rusty old windbag actually sounds decent today."

"Charles, you swallowed another frog, didn't you?"

Christina knew they were joking because truth be told, Ralph's voice was divine. She knew it wasn't sharp, and sometimes hoarse, but she doubted he had the voice schooling she had. Everyone in the class had their own little weakness, just like she did, and she didn't hold it against any of them. A beautiful voice was just that, beautiful. She despised the one who wouldn't sing and take advantage of it... but it's very easy to despise and be guilty of that dislike yourself.

"We'll start a new song today. 'In Time's Swing'. Mr. de Chancy, your lead again, after I sing the words to you a few times."

Christina quickly followed Mr. Berger's gaze and she held in a gasp as she saw Ralph give the teacher a curt nod. _'Oh Ralph is de Chancy!' _She felt her fortunes increase tremendously. Not only had she possibly befriended someone, but one who loved singing too. She could sense most of the students only sang because they had to. Ralph's feelings were geniunely connected to the melodies, and she felt that.

She returned her attention towards Mr. Berger again with a huge smile on her face, her eyes alight. She knew the song 'In Time's Swing', an old childrens poem from McGuffey's Reader. Her father had sang her that song and actually played a nice tune on the violin to go with it. Now she was going to sing it in school... How many people would be struggling with the words while she was already ahead? And she especially wanted to sing to impress Ralph!

Suddenly she felt that pang of anguish take over her, and she frowned. If people heard her sing a song they didn't know, they would hate her and despise her, just like the others had. Why should it be any different this time? She pursed her lips to keep from uttering any low sounds of sadness.

Christina's mind was all aloof while Mr. Berger sang the song; she barely heard his voice or the other students struggling to catch on. Mr. Berger was teaching only the first verse today, and told them they would practice now and at home then the 2nd verse would be taught tomorrow. She remained quiet, afraid to open her mouth and let the words flow with ease.

"Ms. Dahlin, are you not to join us?" Mr. Berger's voice was loud and clear.

Christina was startled and she lifted her head and nodded quickly. "Yes, sire, Mr. Berger."

The class continued singing in a sketchy manner and Christina joined them, pretending to stumble on the syllables as well. She caught Ralph's eyes and he looked puzzled. She shook her head and turned around thinking, _'I can't wait for class to be over.'_

And soon class was over.

Christina rushed to the door and didn't take the sheet of homework papers Mr. Berger had laid on a desk for the class. Nobody noticed her quick escape except Ralph and he rushed after her into the now student filled halls, leaving behind his sheet of paper as well.

"Christina!" a soft yet strong voice called to her.

She turned. "Oh, Ralph. Hi!" she quickly added, remembering his words on their notes about greetings and graces.

He seemed pleased to hear her talk and smiled, but it quickly disappeared. "What's wrong?" He asked, matching her fast pace as she headed towards the girls' bathroom.

"Nothing, I just really need to go." She lied innocently and took her escape into the restroom, Ralph's sympathetic eyes the last thing she saw. She leaned against the door and let out a huge breath, closing her eyes. She folded her arms and gripped tight, trying to calm her breath as she let out a small sob.

She was knocked to her senses as the door was opened by a few chattering teenage girls. Christina quickly claimed a stall before they could. She waited until it was quiet before exiting and she stared in the mirror, her big blue eyes wild and scared. She washed her hands and rinsed her face in ice cold water, trying to shock herself back into happiness for recess. She dried her face with a paper towel, threw it out, and took a deep breath.

Opening the door she stopped mid-action by what she saw waiting for her, or rather who. Ralph was leaning against the wall, one foot placed against the brick, arms crossed. Hearing Christina he pushed himself off the wall and gave her a friendly smile. "Hey."

That simple 'hey' made Christina smile. "You waited for me?" Her whisper was still strong enough to vibrate the empty halls.

"Yes, might I say you're a hard girl to keep up with. Now if I walk you to recess, will you please tell me what's wrong?"

Christina sighed then nodded, feeling his words geniuine.

"Good." Without warning he grabbed her hand and started walking. Christina was surprised by the gesture and pleased with it as well. It warmed her insides and made her feel accepted, and liked, and in disbelief. "I can see you like purple."

"Oh?" Christina answered without thought, lifting her eyebrows at his guess which hit the mark perfectly. "How did you know?"

"Your bracelet."

"Oh..."

"You don't speak much, do you?"

"Um... I don't know."

Ralph laughed. "Right, I'm sorry, nobody talks to you," he added.

"Except you."

"Yes, except me." Ralph opened the door to outside. "Ladies first."

They both walked to an isolated part of the grounds, the merry-go-round, which had been left spinning by a few boys who decided to play soccer instead. The two sat side by side, seperated by one metal bar. They held on and it span slowly as they looked at each other in silence.

"So... will you tell me why you didn't sing that song in Mr. Berger's class? Your voice is perfect for it."

Christina looked down at the dirt below her dangling feet. _'Can I tell him? Should I?'_ Her thoughts were mostly for her sake, to try and talk herself out of it. She couldn't deny she felt a huge amount of trust and acceptance in Ralph's presence and wanted to share with him! Plus, she had promised him, and like her father, she never broke a promise.

"I... I already know the song, and very well." She answered very quietly.

"Well, that doesn't make sense. Then you should have sang it with us just fine. I saw you stumbling just as well as everyone else, worse so if you ask me. Tell me, Christina, were you acting?" Ralph sounded slightly amused and it made Christina look up. He wasn't smiling though the corners of his eyes twitched and played. He was definitely amused.

"You think I did that on purpose? To mock everyone?" Christina suddenly shouted, shocked at her own outburst. She was too raged to care.

"Why no. I'm asking why you did it." Ralph smiled and waited patiently.

Christina looked down again, feeling a smile curl on her lips as well. Her eyes rose to his slowly and she sat there for a minute just gazing before continuing. "I... I was afraid..."

Ralph waited, knowing very well that she wanted to continue but didn't. "It's okay, tell me. What were you afraid of?"

"Afraid..." Christina reluctantly continued. She admired Ralph's patience very much. "Afraid of everyone hating me because I would sing better than them on my first day."

Ralph abruptly looked away, hitting his leg with his hand. "Ah, forget them. If they can't take a young girl's beautiful voice then I'll, I'll kick 'em."

Christina laughed and soon Ralph joined in. After a minute Ralph stopped, letting his eyes rest on his new comrade's. "Sing the song, Christina."

"What?" Christina blushed with a smile. "Really, you want to hear?"

"Yes, and everyone else will want to hear too, no matter if they say so or not. Waste not, want not."

Christina smiled and nodded. "Okay, Ralph." Then she started singing:

_Father time your footsteps go_

_Lightly as the falling sno-ow._

_In your swing I'm sitting, see!_

_Push me softly; one, two, three,_

_Twelve times only. Like a sheet,_

_Spread the snow beneath my feet._

_Singing merrily, let me swing_

_Out of Winter into Spring._

Suddenly, to Christina's shock, Ralph joined her.

_Swing me out, and swing me in!_

_Trees are bare, but birds begin_

_Twittering to the peeping leaves,_

_On the bough beneath the eaves._

_Wait,-one lilac bud I saw!_

_Icy hillsides feel the thaw._

_April chased off March to-day;_

_Now I catch a glimpse of May._

_Oh, the smell of sprouting grass!_

_In a blur the violets pass._

_Whispering from the wildwood come_

_Mayflower's breath and insect's hum._

_Roses carpeting the ground;_

_Thrushes, orioles, warbling sound:-_

_Swing me low, and swing me high,_

_To the warm clouds of July._

While they were singing their hands had unconsciously clasped together. They shared a look of understanding in silence before the next stanza. However the bell for lunch rang, interrupting their song.

Ralph and Christina walked to lunch together and sat at the table nearest the bulletin board. It was empty! To Christina's shock.

"I told them you were going to sit with us..." Ralph said to Christina.

_'Is he shocked too?'_ Christina thought. _'He must have not believed me before about the nobody-talks-to-me thing.'_

They sat across from each other at the table and pulled out their home lunches.

"So what is you want to show me?" Christina asked curiously, taking a bite from her chicken caesar salad.

"This..." Ralph said in an almost-whisper. His hand disappeared underneath the table for a few seconds, then it returned to reveal something in his palm. It was a shiny coat of arms pendant of silver, maroon, and gold. Christina stared at it in awe, fascinated, reaching her hand out to touch it as if it weren't real and would disappear any second. It looked like an amulet from myths and legends.

"Wow... where did you get it?"

"It was my fathers', and his father's before him, and his before him, and his before him..." Ralph said, placing it back in his pocket.

Christina giggled. "A family heirloom."

Ralph's eyes were filled with laughter and pride. "Yes... According to my grandfather I am a descendant of Counts from France, and from the Mountains before that. We're a royal blood-line."

Christina stopped chewing her salad. She couldn't breathe. Ralph was to be a... Count? Were there any Counts in America? "Wait, why are you in America then? What happened?"

"Some time after the war with Napolean III we migrated to America, before the turn of the 20th century. I've never told anyone this before." He took a bite of his sub sandwich.

"Is it because you don't want people to treat you differently?"

"Partly, yes. It's not a secret, yet it's not commonly known. And some people laugh at the thought thinking Counts, Princesses, Kings are just a thing of the past, a play of some sort, and that there's no real magic to it."

"Magic?" Christina really listened then.

"Yes, real magic. Miracles, fairy tales, the royal bloodline. Everyone scoffs at it, and if they don't they're crazy fanatics who draw our faces on a 'Wanted' poster."

Christina remained silent as she tried to digest what Ralph was saying. She never imagined anyone would speak to her like this. The only other one who got remotely close was her father, who told her stories of the North, old Scandinavian, Danish, and Swedish tales. Her two favourites were the Mermaid, and the 'Muse of Melodies'. She believed with all her hearts those tales were real and alive, just as alive as Ralph's royal bloodline. "I'd never scoff at you, Ralph." Christina answered softly, feeling true meaning behind his words even if she didn't understand fully. Maybe she would ask her father about it later.

"I'm glad. I should like us to be very good friends, Christina." Ralph smiled and continued eating.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, an idea churning in Christina's mind. She finished her salad and took out her pasta and sauce, finally mustering up enough courage to speak. "Would you like to visit my house, this weekend? I'd like you to meet my father."

Ralph's eyes lit up. "Sure, I will. What is your phone number and address? My mother needs it just in case."

Christina gave him her address and phone number on a slip of paper, so excited her usually neat handwriting came out scrawly, and they continued lunch. They talked of many things, literature, singing, more on Ralph's coat of arms pendant, and what they enjoyed doing outside of school. The school bell rang, and with irritated sighs they smiled, and went to their classes. They ended up being in all the same classes, Ralph very pleased and Christina very fluttered.

Before school ended that day, before they parted at the 'Parents Pick-Up Spot', Ralph's last sentence to Christina was, "Don't be scared to show your true colours, Christy. Many a flower blush unseen, their fragrance wasted on the desert air, or something like that."

Christina had nodded with a smile and went to her father.

Gustav had noticed his daughter's changed expression from the morning. "Little lotte, you have found a friend, haven't you?"

With a shy smile she said, "He found me."


	2. The Week's and Past's End

A/N: I will update about once a week, depending on how much I write and how busy I am. Hope you like the 2nd chapter.**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: The Week's and Past's End<strong>

The next day, in chorus class, Christina surprised everyone with her performance of 'In Time's Swing'. Only two girls were displeased with her, and the other boys did not care less whether she could sing or not. They just wanted class to be over, all excepting Ralph. Ralph was impressed and happy that Christina took his advice and didn't cower away.

For three days Christina and Ralph continued to meet at recess, lunch, and parting at school's end. During recess they would either play soccer, rehearse a song, or talk about their family's past. Never a moment was dull or unwanted. The weekend came in a flash and Ralph was introduced to Gustav.

"Father, this is whom I've told you about. Ralph." Christina said.

"Ah, Ralph de Chancy, the Count. I'm Gustav."

Ralph looked a little uneasy about Christina's father's words. _'Christina told her father? She must really trust him and love him. I would have liked to tell him myself when I wanted, if I wanted.'_

Christina noticed Ralph's expression and felt a chill on her arms. She knew Ralph was a bit displeased, and she was a little muddled herself. She had never told her father that Ralph was to be a Count, and she did not know how her father knew. _'Is Ralph upset with me? Does he think I betrayed him? Why doesn't he get mad?'_

"The one and only de Chancy, sire. Pleasure to meet you, Gustav." Ralph answered humourously, accepting Gustav's hand for a quick grip.

Gustav opened the passenger door in the 5 seat truck, then the back door. Christina got in the front, Ralph slid into the back seat and the doors were closed. Gustav returned to the drivers seat and drove out of the church parking lot, resuming the conversation. "Christina tells me you love singing."

"Yes, sire. Although I don't know how she knows that, I never told her."

"You're in the choir." Christina answered as if that justified her knowledge. She knew though it was because she sensed Ralph's love for it. _'He must think I'm strange. Me telling my father all sorts of things about him that he hasn't even told me himself. Well, I don't care! No, I do care... I like Ralph.'_

Ralph let out a short laugh. "Well, not every person in the choir enjoys it. To tell you the truth, I didn't when I first started. Everyone told me my voice was too soft, strange, and light. That is until a substitute teacher showed up and harnessed the strengths I had and enlightened me in the power of music."

"You speak very intelligently for a 13 year old, Ralph."

"Thank you, sire. Only because of my fortunate upbringing."

Christina heard the genuine pleasure in those words, but she knew what was coarsing through his brain. _'How does he know my age?'_ She always knew she and her father had a special gift that was a sixth sense. Nobody had affirmed this. Instead they stayed away due to various rumours. Despite Gustav being a professional violinist, the Dahlin family was just too strange to encounter. And Christina paid for it.

"It's all about the spirit as well, Ralph. If your heart's not in it, you simply don't feel passionate about it. Genius is born, not learned. The genius may only be harnessed by a pure heart, full of fire and passion. Suffocate that passion and you have a voice wooden and broken, control that passion and you have a voice among angels and muses."

"Sire-"

"Call me Gustav, young'un."

"Gustav," Ralph said, grinning profusely. "You are a musician and singer, sire?"

"Aye!" Gustav answered. "My little lotte been telling you stories?"

"No, sire- Gustav. Just a lucky guess."

"Just like my bracelet?" Christina added, very entranced by their conversation. She had turned her head back in the seat to see them both as she listened.

Gustav looked at Ralph's expression in the mirror. Ralph seemed to freeze, his tongue stuck on the next words he would say. His eyes flashed to see Gustav's and he nodded curtly at Christina.

"Yes, I make many lucky guesses." Ralph seemed to be bothered by this ascertation, but he loosened at the light mood Christina and her father brought everywhere.

Christina giggled, hiding her own unease at Ralph's expression. "Yes, many." _'Just as my father does.'_

Just then a car in front of Gustav's stopped and Gustav had to slow down very fast, almost slamming on the brakes as he did. "You shithead college graduate, you shouldn't be on the road!" He beeped his horn loudly and picked up his cell phone to report reckless driving.

"Daddy, don't." Christina's hand covered Gustav's gently. With that one touch alone all his anger seemed to fade into the air and be carried to the rain clouds. "They make you fill out a form now, just to report it."

"Alright, filling a form out it is. If it will get a lunatic off the streets and prevent an accident that could kill someone." Gustav answered, almost all his anger unleashed.

"I agree, sire. An hour of our lives to save someone else's." Ralph answered.

Christina looked at Ralph with admiration. She knew then, at this very moment, that Ralph would be hers forever. Ralph did not judge her father so quickly. Ralph took time to listen and understand, rather than accuse and blame. While Gustav wrote down the reckless driver's license down, the time, the street they were on, and the neccessary information needed for a form, Ralph met Christina's gaze. Christina's expression communicated to him more words than everyone else could say in their lifetime. Her eyes said, _'Ralph, you are amazing. You treat me with respect and you treat my father like he should be treated. You don't get scared in his presence. You don't shun us for being different. You don't cringe when he swears. You are at ease with us as if you have known us forever. I love you.'_

Ralph read every line in her features, this young girl that touched his heart so. His eyes were communicating to her worlds of words and they all revolved around the phrase, _'I love you, Christina.'_

One hour and a half later Gustav, Christina, and Ralph were at the Dahlin's home, about 20 miles from the ocean. The form had been filled out, faxed to the courthouse to avoid waiting in a long line, and now they were preparing and packing dinner for a picnic on the beach. Christina and Gustav picnicked every Friday, and now Ralph at their side the joy would grow. By 5:30 they were ready and already headed to the beach. They arrived a little after six, an hour or two before the sky darkened and welcomed the little night angels of light to dance.

There were only a dozen or so people around the area they chose. Their blanket covered the rich white sand, golden in the setting sun's rays. Christina's hat and scarf, both purple as violets, kept her from the chill of August evenings. The wind was steady and strong, waves of deep blue crashing onto shore not 50 feet away from their feet. Christina stood 10 feet from the crashing waves, some biting her toes with cold. She relaxed in the mist on her skin which lay on her close eyelids like non-melting snow; and she heard the voice of the ocean in her sharp ears, arms spread wide.

"There are those at sea their whole life and they may never hear the voice of the ocean," Gustav's voice spread across the salty air. "And there are those who live on land and have never heard the voice of the forests. When winter comes, we wish for Summer; and when Summer comes we live in dread for Winter."

Christina knew Ralph was listening in his silence.

_'Tell Ralph of the 'Muse of Melodies' and 'The Mermaid'.'_ Christina thought, and when her father began speaking she smiled.

"Not everyone hears the 'Muse of Melodies'. And no one has seen him. He only visits those without selfishness and corruption. He kisses your ears with his enchanting music and voice. When you're young, he may visit you in your bassinet, and sing songs in your head while you sleep. That is why some 6 year olds play violin music far superior than other 50 year olds can ever hope to play."

"Have you seen him, Daddy?" Christina shouted. She already knew the answer to this question, but instinctively she always asked him after he told the tale.

"No. But after I die, I will send him to you, my Little Lotte."

Gustav started playing violin, a slow tune drawn out from the weeping strings. Sharp decisive notes curled into a circle, then released in a fury of spirals. The melody became much more dramatic, but sad nevertheless.

Ralph came to be by Christina's side. Her eyes opened and she looked at him with an inward smile, drowning in the feelings of the music, the welcoming breeze of the ocean whipping her blond curls and scarf around her face and shoulders, the serenity of Ralph's presence all a striking chorus in her heart and body.

"Your father is amazing." Ralph said, his voice joining the music in the air.

Christina's answer was a gasp. A strong gust of wind ripped the scarf off her neck and plunged into the waters. "My scarf!"

"I'll get it, Christy!" Ralph shouted, hearing her plea and seeing the spot of purple disappear in the rippling blue.

Before she knew it his shirt was off and he was running into the waves. She watched him dive into the water as she grabbed his shirt from the sand. Without thinking she lifted it to her nose and inhaled, remembering the scent of Ralph; baking soda, cloves, and peppermint. It was the strangest mixture of scents, yet combined so perfectly and so genuinely Ralph.

Christina smiled as Ralph returned a minute later, soaked scarf in hand, his whole body soaked to the bone. "Ralph!" Christina's eyes were bright with gratitude. They traded, her scarf for his shirt. "You didn't have to!"

Ralph shook his hair out, pulled his shirt on, and shrugged. "It was your scarf."

Gustav's violin came to a swell before ending on a high note.

An hour and a half swiftly breezed by as if it were only a few moments. Bonds were retied that will never be broken in time. Stories hung in the salty air like soft whispers of a mothers' lullaby, soothing and peaceful. Jolly music swelled while two children danced in a merry circle around a small fire. Hunger was sated as darkness came, and the moon and stars greeted the three as friends. A farewell lullaby was played as the children shared a few special words before they would part.

"This is the 2nd best week of my life," Ralph said softly to Christina. She almost didn't hear him above her father's music but her ears were listener's ears, very sharp.

"What's your first?"

"You aren't offended that this is not my first?"

Christina shook her head, her eyes glowing silver blue in the glowing embers of the dying fire.

Ralph smiled, looking up at the stars. "My first... is next week."

Christina remained silent, puzzled, then a small laugh escaped her lips. "You did that on purpose!"

Ralph tried to keep a straight face. The lines around his eyes betrayed him again. "Did not!"

"Did too!"

Ralph had started to laugh. After their laughter died down and only the music and insect's hum was heard again, Ralph sighed. "This rendition is hauntingly familiar."

"Is it?" Christina whispered unintentionally. "How can it be? My father just composed it last week."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn... never mind. It's probably another song I'm thinking of."

"Yes..." Christina whispered. A chill ran down her body as she felt doubt in that one word.

"Do you believe in the 'Muse of Melodies'?" Ralph whispered.

"Do you believe in the royal bloodline, Mr. de Chancy?" Christina answered coyly, the innocence in her eyes lacking the maturity of her soul.

"So he really is out there, singing songs in someone's head?" Ralph asked in wonder. His eyes followed the stars as if to see the Muse appear and take his Christina away.

Christina studied her comrade thoroughly, suddenly gripped by a feeling of warmth and security. It climbed up her feet and arms, wrapping itself around her shoulders and cushioning her neck. It planted warm kisses on her cheeks in sighs until she felt herself blushing. The evening chill had pinked her cheeks so hid her reactions easily.

"Why does your father call you Little Lotte?"

Christina blinked. "My middle name is Charlotte." She answered promptly as if she'd been asked numerous times.

"It suits you."

"As does Count de Chancy you."

Ralph shook his head, smiling. "No, not yet."

"Soon?"

"I suppose. I'm only a Viscount now, but it really does not matter in America. America has Presidents, Eurasia has Emperors, Kings, Chancellors. I feel so alone in this world, no matter how much my parents teach me importance. Being who I am... people don't like it. They think it's a joke. They think your 'Muse' and 'Mermaid', and goblins and pirates are jokes, too."

"Really?" Christina was frowning. She had known all her school years that people would never accept her and her father for their strange, adherent ways. However, hearing the affirmation in Ralph's words, in his own life of nonacceptance, made Christina powerless to agree. For could the people in this world really be that bad? Yes, they could. Yet she still found herself asking a question she already knew the answer to.

"Yes... do you understand?"

In the midst of the conversation their eyes had locked, and their heart and soul as well.

Christina's answer was a nod, too caught up in the rush of senses to speak.

"There's hope and love as well, which makes it all worthwhile." Ralph's optimism reminded her of him encouraging her to sing the song in class, despite the snickering and taunting eyes.

"Indeed."

"It's easier to believe in something that doesn't exist than to acknowledge what is in front of you, and beside you, and around you."

With those words the music ended, as did their night together.

On the drive back to the Dahlin's home, conversations on psychology, literature, and music bounced around the truck. The lights of the enclosing city in the darkness were many. Sadly, even after the beautiful enchantments of this trio's journey, the night would end with a sour note. In less than a second, everyone succumbed to the numbing blackness.


	3. Nightmare

A/N: Short, I know. Gives time to dwell on it until the next chapter where development really starts speeding up...

Kind of funny that I posted this the week of Halloween... Hmm spooky!

Hmm please review and tell me if this is too graphic to be rated T. Anyways want to thank you for the reviews, keep being honest and continuing reading. [:

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: Nightmare<strong>

...10 years later...

Present Day 2012

_A cold hand. Reaching out to touch me. I turn and my breath is shattered. I am staring into the lifeless eyes of a bright red-head girl white-skinned blue dress doll. She speaks to me in a loud shrill girl's voice. "Help me!" Blood runs down the side of her face, sticky crimson liquid that I can smell and almost taste in my mouth._

_I scream and back away, too frightened and shaken to run, or perhaps its' that dream glue feet I have. Dolls are not supposed to talk! Or bleed!  
><em>

_The saddened doll advances towards me, I fall to the floor of my apartment den, backing towards the wall. I'm trapped, I realise, as my head bumps the wall, all the while staring into the eyes of the doll. They're no longer lifeless. They are bloodshot and raging blue. Blood tears stream down the doll's cheeks and another plea escape its' unmoving lips._

_"Save me!"_

_Scenes of a morgue drawer being pulled open, a young teenage girl drenched in blood, and darkness zoom past my mind's eye. I am shaken by fear and horror. My whole body is vibrating from the core inside and out. The young girl sits up in the morgue drawer and opens her mouth to talk. Blood and mud cover her teeth and start spilling out, cascading down her chin and grime covered dress. A quite familiar blue dress.  
><em>

_I scream to hopefully sate or chase away the insanity trying to crash through me from the horrible sight._


	4. Ghost of the Past

A/N: I try to avoid these notes in between chapters but had to point out something... I already have 9 chapters pre-written, which should last another 6 weeks. If anything historical wise that is not fluent and messed up, like the years or dates, let me know. This is where the real action ball starts rolling...

Read and review please. I like to know who my readers are. Au revoir.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Ghost of the Past<strong>

The ghost of a scream was in Christina's throat as she woke up in a terrible sweat. Long pale fingers and legs were twisted and bound in the sheets, as if some mighty struggle were conveyed all night. Her head drummed with the sickness of her reoccurring nightmares, her heartbeat running an impatient marathon. Wild sunken blue eyes saw the bright red numbers on the alarm clock, _'3:40',_ mocking her with the reality of 3 more hours of sleep before she must awake for school. 3 more hours of insufferable nightmares, _premonitions_.

Christina was a clairvoyant. She had already helped the police station with several cases, secretly of course. Cases of missing children, attempted killings, rapes, suicides, burglaries. And there were a few incidences when the police were not involved, the prevention of car accidents, fires, and drownings. There were too many to count now. Christina could not keep up with the demands. Her nonacceptance as a child was now full blown and backfired. She was 'over the extreme' strange now, but like every strange, unusual outcast, the ones who did accept you held on tight, and sometimes never let go. It was a lingering fright that took hold in Christina's life.

Christina had always known she was sensually gifted. Even before the entire truth was revealed to her on her 12th birthday, when she subconsciously pushed Margaret, her foster sister's frail body from the swimming pool before the girl would fall in. Her foster parents had pulled an all-out raging fit, ignorant of the fact Margaret could not swim. Christina helping Margaret had resulted in two scraped knees and that was all the foster parents had care about.

Later Margaret had confronted Christina with a shy smile and a _'thank you'_. That was the beginning of their trusting friendship.

In the 6 plus years of their friendship, they had found out each other's talents and love, Christina's in singing, and Margaret's in dancing.

Now Margaret was Christina's roommate and she had heard the frightened girl's shrill scream, even if Christina herself hadn't. The apartment walls were paper thin, unlike the thick shielding barrier of the young psychic's mind.

"Christy!" Margaret's voice was loud even through the door.

Christina stared at the door, shuddering and shivering from her sweat and the intensity of her nightmare. Her throat was dry so she didn't answer, and she didn't move. Her breath came out in ragged gasps as she wiped her face with her hands and pulled the sheets up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Christy." Margaret's voice was softer as she cracked open the door. Her soothing green eyes were shiny in the almost dark, illuminated only by a tiny soft night light near the door. She walked to her friend's bed, glass of water in hand, and sat next to her. "Another nightmare?"

It was a rhetorical question, one that was asked many times before, in the middle of the night. Christina nodded with a shuddering breath before taking the water and gulping the entire contents in just a few seconds.

"Is it the same one you've been having all week?"

"Yes." Christina spoke this time, her throat refreshed.

It helped to talk about the dreams and visions. Christina was more grateful for Margaret than anybody would ever know. Margaret was like a sister to her, actually was a foster sister to her, until she turned 18 last year and they had moved into a city apartment together. Their bond was unbreakable, a chain of love and trust. They never lied to each other or refrained from expressing their true feelings.

"It changed slightly... the doll had real life eyes this time. They were blue, bloodshot... _dead_." She whispered the last word.

"So the girl's dead?" Margaret gasped softly, knowing full well that the visions Christina had did not always come to pass. Christina channeled peoples' intentions, the frequency of their mind waves constantly pumped into her. So some times Christina would predict something about to happen. Other times... not so fortunate. There were times the nightmares spread across a several month time-span, and others were one night only. Christina's clairvoyance was not only connected to criminals, but friends as well. The velocity of Margaret's calming and soothing body language was enough to calm Christina's frenzied breathing and to set her mind straight. She wondered how Margaret stayed so collected and calm through all their horrible experiences. Christina knew it was tied to the day she pushed Margaret away from the swimming pool.

"I'm not sure..." Christina answered honestly. "I saw a young girl's body in a morgue... she looked not 15 years old, and she was crying blood. The doll was..." Christina choked back a sob just as Margaret pulled her friend close and made a soothing 'coo' noise.

Christina knew she must hold back any tears that threatened to overflow. She had become strong in her many years of being passed along to several foster homes, until her father's sister finally acknowledged Christina's existence and tried to 'rescue' her when she was 15. Christina had refused to go with her if Margaret did not come along. Her aunt had complied happily and for almost 3 years they were content with the direction of their lives. For 3 years Margaret attended dance school, Christina had returned to her love for singing, even though it brought back fond memories of her father. The first week Christina had stayed with her Aunt she had visited the church for the first time since her father passed.

**Flashback**

"Father," Christina had whispered into the confessional.

There was a prolonged silence, then a shuffling on the other side. "Yes, my child." The voice was deep, mysterious and angelic, unlike the monotone of the pastors and priests. She had almost not noticed in her stupor.

"I have not sung since my father died 6 years ago..." Saying the words had sent Christina through a shock, realising she had never spoken of her father to anyone. Ever. She felt like she was betraying his memory speaking now. But the enchanting voice on the other side beckoned her further, listened to her sorrows.

"Why not?" The voice asked, truly curious and slightly sympathetic.

"He was a musical genius, he played me the most beautiful renditions and I would sing for him. He... trained my voice for almost 3 years and sent me to the best private school for singing, a Catholic one. I have not visited a church since his death either. I am sorry." Christina had lowered her head to look at her clasped hands, as if they held an answer instead of who she talked to.

"My child, your reasons are justifiable. You were simply grieving. Are you singing now?"

Christina was a little startled by the question at first, though she felt it was an attempt to ease the heavy weight on her shoulders concerning her father. Not to mention the ongoing struggles with her psychic demons. "Yes... It's difficult though. I fear I've lost my touch. It **has** been 6 years. I feel like every time I sing, my father is watching me, and I wish for the Muse of Melodies, but he never comes."

"The Muse of Melodies?" The voice answered curiously. "Who is this? An angel of some sort? A saint of our holy priesthood?"

"He... does not have a name, I suppose." Christina was hesitant in sharing the story that had caused her to feel such hope and passion. It was now a painful part of her past, and wondered what the priest could have any point in knowing about him. She answered nevertheless, for that deep voice was pressing her and she sensed understanding ebbed in the simple words.

"Nobody has seen him, not even those he visits. The Muse of Melodies sings-" Christina was cut off by an abrupt vibrating _thump_, the walls shaking slightly. She sat paralysed, unable to speak. "Father?" She whispered.

There was that unchallenged silence again. She highered her gaze and narrowed her eyes at an attempt to make out the face through the wired window. She saw no one, just darkness and a small dim light in the other small confessional. She sighed, thinking the priest mysteriously leaving, and stood up herself to leave. That was when she stopped mid-action, heart caught in her throat as a voice vibrated the walls with immense passion and valour that could only be compared to God's angels.

_Silent Night, Holy Night_

_All is calm, all is bright._

_Round yon virgin Mother and child_

_Holy infant so tender and mild.  
>Sleep in heavenly peace.<em>

_Sleep in heavenly peace._

The voice! It transformed the peaceful sweet song into one of mystery, darkness... and solace? The last words...

_Sleep in heavenly peace._

_Sleep in heavenly..._

_...Peace..._

They were repeated softly and warmly, as if speaking truly to her heart and giving her inner peace and rest. "Thank you," she whispered to whom she could not say. To God? To this wonderful glorious spirit and voice? To this priest who she laid her confessions out for?

Her eyes suddenly looked up to the confession screen. It was shut. She reached out and put her hand on it, feeling the cool wire and wood from the other side, as if by doing that she was contacting whoever talked to her. Her heart caught in her throat, her eyes widening. She must find out who she just spoke to, who just sang to her!

With determined haste she flew open the door of the confessional, pushed aside the curtains, and ran the few feet to the priest's door to the confessional. Hand on the knob before she could think, she turned it. It resisted, it would not turn. Locked. Of course! It was the priest's after all. Her hands pounded against the door for an entire minute, forgetting about the desired silence during confessional. No one answered. She made a quick decision, running down the aisle past the pews and confronted the priest standing at the pulpit, whom seemed to be studying the Bible. She knelt at the stairs before talking.

"Father, I have a matter of urgency to discuss."

The elder man looked up from the Bible and took a few, very slow and dragged out, steps, relinquishing the space between the two. "What is it, my child?" His voice was croaky, monotone, and rehearsed with only a slight tidbit of concern. Not enough to satisfy Christina. She couldn't expect any from the typical church priest though, having spent 5 years in a Catholic church when she was younger. It was not hell but it definitely was not heaven either.

"Who was the priest just in the confessionals, do you know?"

"I'm not sure... I will have to check the schedules." The priest did not seem to catch the urgency in Christina's tone for he stood silently.

"I would like to know. Now." Christina demanded, trying to keep her voice sweet and persuasive. The intensity of those stormy eyes would make anyone think she was well over 20, despite the youthfulness of her face.

"Ah, yes, yes, come this way, my child." The elderly priest beckoned her closer with his hands and she stood, following him to a back room where hundreds of paper files and books were stuffed into neatly aligned shelves. It seemed pretty useless considering the 3 desks with expensive laptops and furnishing amongst it. The elder went to a laptop and punched in a few keys, then a schedule sheet popped up.

Christina felt uneasy waiting, her impatience ebbing, her anxiousness causing sweat to form on her clasped palms and temples. She was so eager to find out who had sang to her. Her blood burned for that knowledge. If she could put a name to that voice it would seem all the more real! It would help her exhale a breath of relief. One part of her was saying that it was an ordinary priest, nothing to be excited about, he was just offering her a peace of mind. The rest of her, the majority of her, was screaming: NOT A PRIEST. Definitely NOT a priest. No priest talked like that voice did. No priest ever sang, right out sang! And most importantly, in the confessional of all places! That was like seeing snow in Death Valley. A polar bear in the Amazon. The Prince of Wales in a Hollywood public cinema theatre!

"Now may I inquire who's asking, young lady?"

Christina blinked and blushed, too nervous to smile as she noticed the look on the priest's face. It scared her the way their faces remained emotional, cold, hidden all the time... and their tone of voice and stature. It mimicked that of a banker, politician, lawyer, only it was less crude. She only hoped the priest she was about to be revealed his name had not the same face. He could not! But he was not a priest! Surely the voice was not that of a priest. Her senses were certain and close-minded on this subject! So much so, still raging inside of her, that she could not speak.

"Miss? Are you alright, my child?"

Christina blinked again, and realised she had been staring. "Oh, I'm sorry. Christina, Father. Christina Dahlin." She curtsied quickly, which might look odd in 2007, but her father taught her etiquette and manners, and she was not about to forget.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Dahlin. I'm Father James. Now the name you are wanting is..." he turned back to the laptop screen as if to double check, squinted, then turned back to her. Christina held her breath waiting in the prolonged silence. Waiting. Waiting. Oh, spit it out already! It had only been five seconds? Oh, dear, she had lost it.

"...Father Lawrence Marcus. Father Marcus for short. His shift was over just a few minutes ago. I think he rides the 3:15 Greyhound bus, so you might just catch him."

Christina's mood lightened immediately and she exhaled with a large smile. "Oh, thank you, Father James. Thank you." She curtsied again and so flustered she did not say goodbye.

"God bless..." She heard before slipping out of the office room.

Christina ran down the aisle and out the church door as fast as she could without breaking out into a full sprint. She couldn't, considering her heavy choice of clothing, a heavy two-layered deep black skirt with ruffles that dragged along the floor if she didn't pick them up or wear heels, which she wasn't; a long sleeved deep purple blouse with ruffled cuffs reaching her knuckles; black leather gloves; and a black cotton jacket that she left unbuttoned. It was cool for September, so she had chosen appropriate attire, but for the times she stuck out from the common 'quid pro quo'. She did not keep up with the fashions; tight jeans, t-shirts, and converse shoes. She had been in skirts and flat slippers from the time she was born up until now, and that was genuinely her taste. Even her hairstyle did not fit in. While everyone else's was short, choppy, and dyed various colours, hers was a wavy waterfall of natural golds, ambers, and sandy browns that now reached her mid-thighs. In her father's life he had so commonly commented on her hair saying _'Little Lotte, your hair is so much like your mother's'_ and _'If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hiding mulberry trees in our backyard, raising silk worms, and spinning your hair'._ It made Christina feel the slightest bit ashamed if she even had the tiniest inclination enter her mind about so much as TRIMMING it. It was a part of her mother, and herself, she would never let go. As much as she wouldn't let this voice, the owner of this voice, go.

There was a screech in the road, the sound of metal groaning and it stopped as instantly as it came. So enveloped in her thoughts and determination, Christina almost ran past the bus stop bench, and the two guests seated upon it, now standing to enter the Greyhound that had just arrived. _'I must get on that bus!'_ She thought. _'But Ms. Gregory! She'll wonder where I am. Oh, however much I detest cell phones and e-mail, I wish I had one right now to contact her.'_ Taking a bold step, Christina stepped onto the bus with set intentions. She was so set on following the short black-haired man dressed in priest's garbs that she was stopped by a cranky, harsh, loud voice.

"Pay the fare, lady, or get off. You have 2 minutes."

Christina flustered, turned her attention to the heavy-set dark brown skinned lady driving the bus. The woman held a stare that meant business.

"I'm sorry, how much is it? I think I missed that bit of information amongst the chatter..." Christina asked in her sweet, apologetic tone, though she wished she could have slapped the lady right then and there for just speaking so in that harsh tone. But long ago, Christina had learned to hold her tongue, especially in public. She could sense stress and tension all over the lady's body, and she did not look too happy either, so she knew everything was amiss in the lady's life and wouldn't want to make things worse by snapping and causing a ruckus.

The bus driver pointed her finger up. Christina's eyes went in that direction, precisely to the price clearly written at the top. _$2.00_

Christina smiled and pulled out her black leather billfold from her jacket pocket. She acquired the 2 bills, put them in the fare slot, unknowingly dropping her personal I.D. on the bus floor. She proceeded to the seat next to the priest, luckily vacant, not caring if she looked eager or wild. For she was too caught up in the moment to notice or even think about her appearance.

"Father Marcus, may I join you?" She asked, her voice musical and disheveled all in one.

The priest looked up and smiled, a cold, thin, rehearsed smile that shook her more than any glare of hate could. This man could not be the owner of that voice! That was evident! And it was an even stronger confirmation when he spoke.

"Yes, my child." Father Marcus' voice sounded like it was supposed to be deep and somehow stopped in the midway range after hitting puberty. It squeaked and groaned like a heavy steal door with rusty hinges, and it was lined with exhaustion, irritation, and... appeasement? She felt that at least was directed towards her. He was appeased with her presence, that much she could feel and know from his guarded expression and demeanour.

"Thank you." Christina sat down reluctantly, the urge to bolt and run strong. But she heard the bus door close, and it took off without hesitance. The next stop she vowed to get off and make her way home. Hopefully it would not be too far, considering her unfamiliarity with buses. She had never ridden a bus before! In her 15 years in North Carolina she had never ridden in any other vehicle but her father's, her foster parent's, or the social services. It made sweat cover her brow, even in the cool weather of Autumn. The unfamiliar faces on the bus were making her more uneasy. She was no stranger to crowds, but crowds without acquaintance! It chilled her to death. To utter frightful death.

"I'm Christina." She made herself talk, for she was here with a purpose. Wasn't she? She had almost forgot that purpose when all her hopes were lost at the mere sound of this priest's voice and the look on his face. Her purpose to find the owner of that voice, a rose among graves, a sweet smooth whistle among harsh society static.

"Good afternoon, Christina. I'm afraid I do not know you, my child, but you know me?"

Christina almost had to blink her eyes to tears to face the reality of her situation. She forced herself to turn and look at the priest sitting right beside her, his black wrinkled linty robe not 6 inches from her neat clean skirt. Oh, why weren't the bus seats any longer? She scolded herself, that it was not right to complain when she put herself in this path and she would have to deal with it, pleasantly or no.

It must have been several minutes later before Christina could finally see the priest's face entirely, and finally make out his features unlike her stark glance before. But it was only a few seconds, stretched out in time. Christina was surprised now how good looking Father Marcus' was despite his pale malnourished skin. His cheekbones were high, smooth and defined, his chin broad, his eyes pale greyish green, and his nose long and pointed, reminding her of the Russian Czars. Maybe he was Russian! And she was startled how young he looked! She doubted he was far past his 30's, and she felt a pang of pity and sorrow at having to live such a life. A life of loneliness, devotion, and... celibacy. Maybe that was why his expression turned from cold and heartless to a slight nervousness and anxiety. Was she sitting too closely to him? She was aware now of his cheeks growing slightly pink under her gaze. How he must act around other women, not just her; a temptation for a forbidden desire; she a treasure in a chest to which he would never find the key. Sitting here, staring at him, no less, was giving him the key!

She quickly looked away and resumed her courteous smile, inwardly cringing at her thoughts being so carried away.

"Yes, Father..." She began hesitantly then taking a deep breath she continued. "I have a question." Suddenly her purpose felt ridiculous and insulting, sitting here next to this man who was not the inspiration to her inner peace.

"Continue, my child." That annoying squeaky voice was getting on her nerves. The voice did not utter 'my child' with such coldness and resolute anguish!

"Were you in the confessional last today? A Father James told me you were. I have just caught you at the bus stop for a confirmation." That was the God's honest truth, so she should never be accused of lying to a priest!

"Why, yes, I was. I left about 45 minutes ago, and am heading home. Why do you ask, my child?"

Christina suddenly looked at Father Marcus with alarmed eyes. "But you didn't talk to me. I didn't confess to you, did I? Were you the one talking to me just 45 minutes ago? Tell me you don't recognise my voice."

Father Marcus' eyes widened at Christina's sudden outburst and it was now she realised her hands had on their own accord pressed down his garb to the bus seat. Her hands retracted to her lap and she waited for a response ever so eagerly.

"No, I do not. I... am sorry but I can't distinguish voices very well at all, my child. There are too many visitors, both male and female, to remember them all. Also I am tone deaf, so that adds to it. Besides, I have not had any visitors today, no confessions."

"But then there must be a priest after you? Another who takes up their shift right after yours?"

"No, my child, there isn't. The confessionals close at 3:00 on Ash Wednesday's I'm afraid. It's a weird tradition, yes, but a traditional nevertheless." Christina suspected that line was rehearsed. Traditions were important to the church, that one at least.

Christina lowered her eyes in defeat, feeling utterly stupid and embarrassed at her efforts in vain. Must there be nobody who knows the owner of that voice? She let out a dragged out breath as the bus squealed to a stop and she felt a nudge at her knee. She looked up at Father Marcus' standing, apparently about to get off. How long had it been? How long had she been on the bus? She wondered at the time as she slid out of the seat and curtsied to Father Marcus.

"Good day, Christina. Read your scriptures, come to the confessional, and say your prayers, my child, and you will be at rest. I am sorry that you couldn't find who you were looking for."

Christina nodded, feeling very much that those words were forced out just as a generous gesture. But as she looked up at Father Marcus' face she felt a sudden rush of lust slip through her body as slimy as a serpent's scales. Was he being nice to her just to get close to her? Luckily her clothes hid her shivers.

"I appreciate... your concern. Farewell, Father." Christina sat down, too uneasy to leave the bus just yet. And leaving with a priest would look just weird!

As the bus left she suddenly realised her insolence, that she was still on the bus. ALONE. With no escort, no protector. And to top off the fear-coated sundae of her night, she had no idea where the bus was headed! She gripped the edge of the bus seats, her leather gloves squeaking under the pressure as she tried to breath evenly. Soon the bus squealed to another stop and her breath was released, relief rushing through her. She was about to stand when a shockingly familiar voice kept her glued to the bus seat.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."


	5. Merrik Loyle Police Don Juan

**Chapter 5: Merrik Loyle - Police Don Juan PART II**

The introduction of Merrik Loyle. How should I start?

The Wilmington police station was buzzing frantically. Doors opened and closed constantly, the seats that ligned the walls were like 'musical chairs' the visitors continuously changing and rotating. Officers, detectives, private investigators, coroners, so on and so forth, click-clacked away on computers, watched surveillance cameras, fixed hot steaming coffee in the lounge, answered phones, and many other things. Time was like a Nascar race, only break to fill up the gas and change the tires. Everyone was on full speed, overdrive more like. Eyes and ears only for their job. Were feelings a part of this mechinical by-the-book do-my-duty world? Only barely.

Merrik Loyle was a hot-shot in the police department; going on thirty he was 6'3", short-tempered, full of stamina, strength, had a head full of thick brown hair, and was all muscle. Having been on the Wilmington force for 6 years he was by no means a rookie, was fully experienced in the use of pistols, rifles, and close combat, using knives or knuckles, and had never been injured once in the line of duty. Whether by pure skill, instinct, or luck, who knows?

Nobody got along with Merrik, at least not the males. They had it all out for him, while most of the girls swooned for him. He always got smart glances and remarks from the guys concerning that, and Merrik would always retort humourously. His first year on the force Officer Gowen, an older man of balding hair had commented, "I see the ladies got a soft spot for your badge. It's no wonder, your unskilled in everything else."

Merrik had pulled his fist out to punch Gowen but another officer had intervened, officer Jennings. Good thing he did or otherwise Merrik would have been kicked off the force then and there, and never had the pride to say he'd been on the job for 6 years scot-free, and still going. Jennings was still a buddy to him to this day, always keeping a check on Merrik's unyielding anger.

**Flashback**

Merrik was on duty with Jennings one Tuesday night, in 2007, the beginning of his 3rd year in, when they got a call on the police car radio about a robbery close by. They had verified their participation and headed to the scene. Guns out, stealth intact, the veil of darkness setting in. All was well for Merrik who was a master at stealth, agility, and endurance. Jennings was oblivious to Merrik's full potential, merely seeing one side of him the 'Handcuffs Buff Womanizer' charade. The secret of Merrik's past never unfolded. Who knew how Merrik had stopped the robbers that night? How he had saved two hostages, disarmed, knocked out, and handcuffed the two robbers, and all before the back up team had arrived on the scene. And all without one scratch on his uniform and skin. Hell, his shoes were still shiny!

"I thought this was going to be a tough catch!" Jennings huffed, grasping his pistol behind his belt as if it were his special blanket and gave him comfort in any situation. He looked at Merrik with amazed, inspired eyes as usual, thinking, _'that hell of a man, Merrik!'_

"It's a lot tougher than it looks." Merrik had replied modestly. The corner of his lips twitched with a ghost of a proud smile, but Jennings didn't catch it. He wasn't that observant, more of the suspicious kind.

"And you disappeared on me. AGAIN." Jennings complained. "Shit, Merrik, ain't you gonna warn me before you go all Batman on me?"

"Who secured this mishap? Who caught the robbers and saved everyone from possible harm?" Merrik pointed out coyly, his deep wild forest green eyes narrowing.

"The General's gonna want a word with you on this." Jennings frowned, shaking his head thinking how impossible Merrik was, but how inspirational as well.

"That's new." Merrik answered sarcastically.

Jennings just frowned and huffed his breath. "Shit, I think he's gonna want two words with you on this."

_"If he's as smart as everyone says he is..."_

A very female, and sly voice broke into the conversation. Merrik pretended not to notice, as was his sly way of inviting female companions into his own personal space. He would wait, inviting, and if they entered he would respond. Otherwise his face remained expressionless, his arms folded across his chest casually still facing Jennings.

The lines near his eyes twitched slightly as the woman walked into his line of sight, an average height bimbo faux platinum blonde with plump purple lips, deep eyeliner, the cutest little nose, and very vivacious curves. Even in her coroner's outfit she was sin in a bottle, at least in Merrik's eyes.

"...he'll have you write a whole book just on this particular case." The lady coroner finished with a smug smile. Her thick finely shaped eyebrows arched up above a deep set of brown eyes as she caught Merrik's gaze. Jennings let out a low sharp breath, apparently spotting the lady in her fine souire.

"I've always wanted to be an author, Coroner Travis." Merrik answered, his voice one notch deeper than usual though still smooth as dark chocolate when he addressed the lady by her official name. He had seen her picture not one week before. A rookie, all of her 30 years of experience mixed with a little blood and chocolate, and you have someone who thinks she's boss.

"Well, now's your chance." Travis flirted suavely with Merrik, not minding Jennings standing just two feet away who was getting slightly annoyed. Everyone's attention was always on Merrik. Never him! It was an insult, but then again, it would be an insult to Merrik if the woman didn't flirt with him.

"I've had plenty of chances before, dozens of chances. What makes you think now's my time to shine... Janis?" Merrik flirted back, inviting her, enticing her by using her name at precisely the right moment. He waited for the one answer he knew he was going to get. Whatever choice of words the tone was all that counted.

"Well..." Janis began, her tongue subtly hitting the roof of her mouth as if insinuating what could be done with it. Her voice did not fail to hint at pleasures on the surface and beneath it as well. "The fact that I'll be your first fan is one reason. The other reason you might not like." And she smiled as if laughing at something she had already said, in her mind.

"And what reason is that?" Merrik asked, swiftly avoiding the first sentence. As long as he was asking the questions, he was the seducer, not her, not the other way around. He liked to establish his dominance. Unfortunately he didn't anticipate Janis' next move, her shuffling the conversation in such a way she had known Merrik would answer like he did, and now she was at the advantage.

"Your penance is due. You know how the criminals act because you are a criminal." Janis answered boldly.

"You're just stating what everyone else says." Merrik rumbled, a little off beat by her comment his voice going back to its normal pitch.

"That's true." Jennings mumbled, and Merrik shot a warning glance in his direction.

"That's not such a bad thing for us sinners. Didn't I say I'm your fan?" Janis scrunched up her nose and winked before taking a step backwards to turn and leave.

"Well you sure showed her." Jennings said with hideous sarcasm.

Merrik grunted and pushed Jennings aside, running after Janis, not wanting her to get the best of him. "Janis."

Janis didn't turn around until she leaned against a small black car, her legs crossed in a very seductive manner. "And who might you be? I don't believe we've met, officer." That smile was still on her lips.

"Merrik Loyle, and you're going to be my date tonight." Merrik put it bluntly, with a little assertion and force along with a tinge of sensuality. They stood staring for a minute, communicating in that silent language of the body.

"Oh am I, _Monsieur le Profete_?" Janis rolled her tongue seductively, sending chills down Merrik's body. This lady was really getting to him.

"Yes."

"When?"

"11:00."

"Where?" She stood straight up, her expression more serious.

"Sinner's Gospel."

"We'll see." And she got in the car and drove off.

Merrik smiled. He knew she would come. And she did.

11:00 came in no time. Merrik was off duty, dressed in a black long sleeve button up shirt, jeans, boots, and ready to sing. He was the lead singer of a rock/classical band 'White Sand' who performed twice a week at the night club 'Sinner's Gospel'. It was his escape into the sensual world of music and dancing. He held the microphone in his hand with his costume ready. He always wore a mask on stage to aid in the illusion of his fantasies. A white mask that covered his entire face, excepting his chin, mouth, and eyes. It was the contrast of the black of his clothes and the white of the mask that made it all the more alluring and sensual. He lost himself up there on stage with his four band members and the audience of around 200 down below.

The music began, one acoustic electric guitar, one electric bass, a set of drums, and an electric keyboard set on pipe organ. That was what made his singing so unique. He LOVED the organ and would never give up that glorious sound for anything in the world. It threw him into the world of the unbelievable, made him forget all his fears and loneliness. It made him alive and unspoiled. It was a toxin to his salty Eastern blood.

Merrik's green eyes turned into aquamarine in the bright lights on the stage, and they spotted a familiar head of platinum blond down below. Janis was wearing a strapless silver satin dress that hugged every curve tightly and barely covered her mid-thighs. _'You came.'_ He thought with a dark smile on his lips as he began to sing, his feet already moving about the stage in anticipation.

_In sleep we all fall_

_Into the abyss of nightmares_

_Where once we were so strong_

_But don't fear!_

_An angel will deliver us_

_After our sorrows we've realised_

_How many things we've done wrong..._

_Leave all your past behind..._

_Arise the feelings and you'll find..._

_A treasure, a fantasy,_

_A world that lies_

_behind your eyes!_

_A ni-iiiiiiiiight... _

He would close his eyes during that one word, then open his eyes for the next part.

_Of musical, sensual delight._

...Later...

Merrik loved women, but he was obsessive. If the woman didn't stick around and be 'with him', not just 'with him at night in bed'; if he couldn't have all of her, both modesty and seduction, he would leave with a heavy heart and move on. This night was not any different, so move on he did.

He had watched Janis sleep for nearly an hour now. Finally convinced she was deep in sleep and wouldn't wake up when moved, he slowly and gently pulled away from her, grabbed his clothes and dressed. He turned off the lamp, left the room, and slipped through the slowly dying crowd of the night club. He glanced at his watch. _'2:17'._ Damn, still pretty early. He usually left around 3 o'clock depending on how long it took to be with the lady and get her to sleep before making his escape. Every time he noticed a woman's curiosity at still wearing his mask while having sex. And every time he seemed to abate that curiosity by making them pant and scream in pleasure. Why let them see his face? Why let them into that part of his feelings that was purely his and only his? There was no need to share it.

He headed into the chill of the night, enjoying it as he walked the 10 blocks to his apartment building. When he got there, he slipped his clothes off, took a shower, then sat down at his keyboard and started playing. Every night he would play for hours until the sun rose, then either dragging himself to bed in only his boxers, or by way of a face implanted to the keys, he would fall asleep. And sleep deeply he would. And have ridiculous nightmares.

The next afternoon was a bright Wednesday. Having slept soundly in his bed he was full of energy, though he didn't remember ever going to his bed that morning. Merrik was up and by half past 1 he had already combed his hair, dressed in a neatly ironed off-duty outfit, fixed his facial make up, and was sipping his coffee quite luxuriously. He studied his face in the mirror for several minutes, making sure every line, discoloration, and bump blended in with the rest of his face and skin. And they did.

Leaving his apartment in satisfaction, he headed to the St. Mary Church for a confession, his weekly confession, which he could only afford on Wednesdays, his only day off. He didn't take the weekends off. Nobody in their right mind, living in the city would take the weekends off when they had a choice. Weekends paid better. Weekends were a godsend.

...

"Why, if it isn't Merrik _Disloyal_, Mr. Hot Shot Cop."

Merrik cringed inwardly at the squeaky, high pitched Italian accented voice that could only belong to one woman. "Carolina Smelton, back for more already?"

A short reddish brown haired woman with a broad chin, high arched eyebrows, and paper petunia petals for lips stepped right in line with Merrik. He was a foot taller than her and always felt like a Giant in her presence. Her 4 inch spiked stilettos didn't improve much, what with her slim busty figure covered in long leather jacket, the heels just added to the illusion of abnormally long legs.

Carolina's eyes arched and a squeaky irritated scoff escaped her mouth. "Yuh nevah call' me bock. Yuh nevah tuh explanise yer missing our even'n brunch." She started counting on her fingers all the things he did wrong. "Yuh told me broother I was engaged to anothah! Wheer thuh hell you been?"

"Living my daily life... as usual." Merrik replied calmly not even phased by Carolina's outburst. He had gotten used to her behaviour after the first night of 3 VERY LONG weeks of his life. It was just his unluck that he would encounter her after having not heard from her in over 9 months.

"Livin' yuh dail-ay live as uh low-dan. Stinkin'. Womaniser!"

"Look, I made it clear from our first date that I wanted nothing serious. You didn't mind." Merrik pointed out, which was the absolute truth and he knew she couldn't deny that. The fact their 'relationship' lasted 3 weeks was just incidental.

"How 'bout lunch wit 'lil ole Carolina Smelton, eh? I'm not hol'n it again' yuh. I jus' miss yuh son uva bitch." Carolina started laughing, and nudged Merrik in the side which earned her a raised eyebrow and half smile.

"Lunch now? I'm kinda busy..."

"Oh, dear. I ferget! Yuh don' eat lunch... or supper! Or anything fer tha' mattuh. Rott'n vamp. Eat lunch wit' me please, Merree-eek." Her nails pinched his skin through his cotton sleeve as her arms wrapped around his right arm. She had a huge grin on her face and if those big brown eyes weren't in their sockets they would be on the other side of the world.

Merrik didn't want to reunite with Carolina, to catch up with her, or 'eat lunch' with her. He knew what she meant by that. She wanted him in bed. At 1:45 in the afternoon. She was an early bird type girl, always fast asleep by the time it was dark, always visiting him at 8 in the morning after he got off work. She was the only girl who constantly questioned his choice to wear a mask during sex, constantly nagged him until she teased him about it being some sort of fetish of his, when it indeed wasn't. He never denied her ascertations, and never confirmed them either. He didn't want to tell her, or any other woman, that sex causes sweat, and sweat causes his make up to come off, revealing his face in all its glory. He was thinking of getting waterproof concealer soon, but that would end his charade. Something deep inside him wanted to keep the mask on, wanted to hide.

"I'm headed to somewhere very important and I can't miss it." Partially true, he supposed.

"But I'm heer! Yuh can do tha' anothuh toime. Come oin, sweet 'lil Merr-eeek." One of her hands crawled up his shirt sleeve, making the little hairs stand on end from the warmth of her palm.

"Alright..." He finally answered in defeat. "Where to?" He could always go to the confessionals an hour late. Forgiveness could wait. Sins couldn't. He couldn't deny that he was still enticed by Carolina's fiery ways.

"My place, of course." Carolina answered as if that were the only answer to such a question.

...

Merrik and Carolina ended up having sex on Carolina's living room couch... and on the floor. By the time they were finished Merrik's watch said _'2:47'_.

"Yuh know," Carolina breathed after a long pause. "Yer so damned good yuh could get paid fer thees."

"Hell no." Merrik replied immediately, zipping up his pants and buttoning up his shirt. "Money for sex is the lowest of all lows in my moral standards."

"Yuh... have moral?" Carolina let out a low laugh, still laying on the floor with a smile, not caring to cover up her essentials.

"Even the devil has his boundaries." He straightened his collar and buttoned his cuffs.

"Sure yuh do. Now get outta heer 'fore I devour yuh 'gain, Masked Marauder Merrik."

Merrik smirked and grabbed his belt before heading to the bathroom, a habit of his she was already used to. He locked the door, removed his mask. A few smears on his cheeks, nothing too bad. He retouched it, pocketed his mask, and left the bathroom to see Carolina on the couch in a very provocative position. She was trying to lure him, to make him stay longer, and it would have worked if he wasn't one to linger, and linger, and linger after sex. He knew Carolina's stamina, how she could go for hours and hours, and he knew if he stayed even a moment longer he would never make it to the church that night. So he took the wise path and waved goodbye before leaving her apartment. Hopefully it was the last time he saw her, but he doubted it.

Merrik's walk to St. Mary Church was fast. He walked through the entrance at precisely 3:00. He headed straight to the confessional only to find a young woman in a long black skirt, purple blouse, and really long brownish blond hair take his place. He only saw the back of her body as she made her way past the curtain.

_'I've never seen her before...'_ His thoughts fed the urge to want to see her face. This woman who dared take his place in the confessional. He then realised he had been quite late... still!

Just then he saw Father Marcus leave not 10 seconds after that girl had entered. She was all alone then! Looking around and making a quick decision, Merrik walked casually to the priest's door after Father Marcus was out of sight. Merrik checked to see if anyone was looking, and seeing only the elderly Father James bowed over his bible, he slipped his I.D into the door crack, pushed the lock in, and walked silently into the priest's room. He carefully closed the door as he was concealed in darkness. He slid his hand along the wall to flip the artificial candle switch when he heard the woman whisper 'Father'. It brought his heart to his throat. _'That voice!'_

Suddenly losing his footing, he almost slipped and instead his knees found the soft cushioning of the priest's chair.

_'This is a lot more comfortable than the confessional chair!'_ He noted with a grimace. _'Darn priests.'_

Merrik adjusted himself in the seat and immediately drew his hand to pull the screen open. The woman's face was still concealed, bowing down. He moved just enough to conceal his face in the shadows, then thinking of his mask he put it on. "Yes, my child." He found himself answering, his heart pumping wildly in his throat.

"I have not sung since my father died 6 years ago..."

Merrik held his breath as he waited for her to continue, somehow feeling her words were cut off by some inner struggle. _'She sings?'_ Not hearing anymore words he broke the unbearable silence, but with gentleness, knowing very well how young and innocent this girl was to him having lost her father and still feeling remorse after 6 so long.

"Why not?" Merrik asked. Knowing very well that a priest wouldn't answer in such a manner but he couldn't help his curiosity.

Merrik held in a gasp as he saw this woman's face in the glow of the soft light now, now clear enough to him to make out the features. Her nose was small but pronounced, her skin shimmering white with light pink lips so small and plump, her eyes big blue and searching, full of sadness and mixed feelings it seems. He felt like he had seen her before, talked to her before, knew her before.

"He was a musical genius, he played me the most beautiful renditions and I would sing for him. He... trained my voice for almost 3 years and he sent me to the best private school for singing, a Catholic one. I have not visited a church since his death either. I am sorry."

Merrik frowned as she looked down, her blue eyes escaping his scrutinising gaze. The lines around her mouth were troubled and her cheeks were paltry with emotion. He wanted to comfort her, to soothe her sorrows, but what he wanted to know the most was her talent in singing. No person should ever throw away such a gift as their voice, for any reason. He tried to simplify her feelings, to lead the conversation to the importance of her singing. Even though he had never heard her sing he imagined an angel in spirit and body.

"My child, your reasons are justifiable. You were simply grieving. Are you singing now?"

Merrik barely noticed how surprised she was at his question, and almost regretting he was too blunt was about to apologise when she spoke.

"Yes... It's difficult though. I fear I've lost my touch. It **has** been 6 years. I feel like every time I sing, my father is watching me, and I wish for the Muse of Melodies, but he never comes."

_'The Muse of Melodies?'_ Merrik thought, furrowing his brows. Then realising he had actually spoken he continued, trying to bring back the priestly part of the 'confession'. "Who is this? An angel of some sort? A saint of our holy priesthood?"

"He... does not have a name, I suppose." Merrik could hear the hesitance in her voice and wondered if he should leave before she got suspicious. For some reason or another that thought was cast aside, for he had a strong feeling that she was not the suspicious type. Merrik cursed inwardly, while the woman continued talking he heard the sound of a lock being turned.

There was a sickening thump as Merrik's strong arms pushed the priest's head into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Merrik closed his mouth to silence his hard breathing, having been very close to being caught in the confessional, impersonating a priest. He shook his head from the adrenaline rush now hearing a little whisper "Father," cut into the harsh silence. Merrik was stung into reality recalling her words while he was 'busy': "Nobody has seen him, not even those he visits. The Muse of Melodies sings-"

He suddenly held his breath as she attempted to look into the wired window, stepping backwards to hide in the shadows. It was easy with his black clothes and dark hair. Not seeming to see him, the woman stood turning towards the door as if to leave. _'No!'_ He thought. _'Not yet!'_ And before he even knew what he was doing, Merrik erupted into song. His feelings escaped into the words of 'Silent Night', his voice strong and radiant in the small rooms. As he was repeating the last sentences...

_Sleep in heavenly peace._

_Sleep in heavenly..._

_...Peace..._

Merrik slowly shut the confession window and backed towards the door to leave. He opened the door right when the woman uttered a 'thank you' and locking the door, he stole away from the Church, afraid to be caught. His blood was pumping wildly with new unknown desires and urges. He was drawn to that nameless woman of rich dark blond tresses and sea blue eyes. He also wondered who that girl thought she was thanking. God?

Merrik sat down on a bus stop bench, burying his face in his hands. Trying not to smear the make up he ran his fingers through his hair. Soon his breath calmed but then his heart sped again after the Greyhound bus arrived... when he saw the woman again, following Father Marcus onto the bus. He couldn't believe his eyes! After practically running away from oppurtunity, from her, and now she was placed right in front of him. Like a spark, a firefly's mating call, he was drawn to her and his eyes glowed intense green. He would not let her go this time.

Merrik followed 'the lady in purple and black' a few steps behind, trying to remain casual and inconspicuous. The young woman stopped as the lady bus driver grunted and pointed to the sign at the top. Merrik wasn't really paying attention but he sensed that this woman had never been on a public transit bus before! It was strange to him, this girl who seemed to know her way around the church and city, and give her trust so easily to not know city ways. _'Ah,'_ he thought. _'Perhaps she is rich.'_

His suspicions seemed confirmed when she pulled bills out of her wallet as if they were mere pennies. His eyes then caught a flash of white and it hit the floor with a soft 'clck'. The lady in purple had dropped something, and she was already walking down the bus aisle! Nobody seemed to notice the card of white on the dirty grime floor.

Merrik ran up the bus stairs, deposited 7 quarters, pretending to drop one, and swiftly slipped the card of white into his sleeve before returning to the bus driver with a forced smile and deposited the last quarter. The bus immediately took off as he spotted the lady in purple seated near Father Marcus in the way back. He sat in an empty seat 3 rows up, just close enough to eavesdrop and not too close to raise suspicion.

The conversation between Father Marcus and the lady in purple commenced.

Merrik's blood stopped cold. His eyes widened.

"I'm Christina."

_'Christina... her name is Christina. Christina...'_

He muttered her name, looking down. "Where have I seen you?"

Merrik's breath caught as an image flashed in his mind. It startled him. All his senses were numb of the present. That one image brought to him pain and desire, rich and merciless.

_A young blond girl kneeled before an altar. Fresh tears slowly fell down her face, like draining pools of sadness and longing. Her small delicate hand reached forward, a small flamed match held delicately in her grasp. She lit a few taper candles and chanted silently. She chanted whispers of prayers to her father. _

_'Brava, Bravissima...' And a voice... a deep rumbling voice echoed through his throat and entire body, as he watched the young girl through dark metal bars. As __**I**__ watched her poor out her feelings._

The image was ended abruptly. Merrik didn't realise his hands were gripping the bus seat until he felt the pain. _'What the hell?'_

He released his hands as he heard the rest of the conversation:

"Why do you ask, my child?" Father Marcus, of course.

"But you didn't talk to me. I didn't confess to you, did I? Were you the one talking to me just 45 minutes ago? Tell me you don't recognise my voice."

_'She's trying to find me!'_ Merrik thought as realisation hit him. '_I recognise your voice! I was the one you were talking to! I am your Muse of Melodies, Christina!'_

Merrik's entire body went into a stagnant rage. He knew then after that secret confession of his own, there was no turning back. He was Christina's Muse.


End file.
